Er - Sort Of
by bowtruckles
Summary: What could have probably, possibly, potentially happened when Ron and Hermione were dancing at Bill and Fleur's wedding. A Deathly Hallows missing moment one-shot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of these characters. I don't make money on this ish, it's just for fun.**

Ron Weasley is many things, but he is not the dancing type. He is long limbs, and big hands and feet, and a certain deficit of self-confidence, none of which really lends itself to dancing. Though, he has been a bit more confident lately, enough to do things like put a comforting arm around me or pay me a compliment. Now, apparently, he's at the point where he'll snipe at Viktor Krum, his one-time idol, and invite me to dance with him. I am absolutely not complaining, but I hadn't really pictured dancing of any sort at this wedding. I assumed, as usual, that our role would be what it always is: make sure that Harry does not do the stupid thing he is planning to do, and then when he invariably does it, make sure he does not die. It's been our thing for the past six years, and I didn't think that this wedding would change that, but here we are on the dance floor.

"Ron, what are you doing?" I ask him as he grabs my hands in his. It's a bit of an upbeat song, so it's not as though we can default to that odd side-to-side swaying that I saw so much of at the Yule Ball. We might have to actually… dance.

"I'm asking you to dance," he states definitively. "As my first choice."

"Oh, _well then_."

Ron raises my hand over my head and spins me around once, twice, three times, and I'm laughing by the time he lets up. "Actually, my only choice."

I look around at the guests, most of whom have red hair, including our best friend in disguise. "I suppose you're related to almost everyone here in some way."

He grabs my free hand in his again. "That's not really what I meant."

Lately, Ron has had this way of telling me things without ever really saying anything. Normally he just blurts out whatever is on his mind, but he's been cryptic with me, and I'm expected to decipher his one-armed hugs and sidelong glances and times where he almost says something, but doesn't. Like now, where his arm is snaking low around my waist and he's clasped our hands out at our sides. Maybe we're just dancing because it's his brother's wedding, and that's what you do at weddings, but maybe it's more than that. I've been trying for months not to get my hopes up about him, because the last time I did that, he stomped on my heart in front of the entire Gryffindor common room. But I almost can't help it right now; he's bouncing us side to side in this goofy, sarcastic way that is just so him.

"Do you want the truth?" he asks, but before I can reply, he keeps talking. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You're doing fine," I tell him. Glancing around at the growing crowd on the dance floor, I observe that almost everyone is doing the same thing we are. We're all just faking it, really. "It's just dancing."

"I didn't just mean that."

What would be lovely is if Ron could stop telling me what he doesn't mean, and could actually start saying what's on his mind. The thing is, we both know that he can't. Tomorrow we're leaving. We're heading off into the unknown with Harry, and we can't be distracted by this _thing_ that's between us. We can't. I want to it be the right time for us, but it just isn't.

I'm wearing heels, so the height difference between us isn't as pronounced as it normally would be. His fingertips are pressing into my side, and I'm just inches away from him. We've never been this close. Somehow, even though he honestly is related to most of these people, and we're in the middle of this crowd, it feels strangely anonymous. No one is watching us, not even Harry - he's still talking to Viktor Krum - so the tension between us is building up.

"I don't know what I'm doing either," I disclose, adjusting the way my arm is positioned behind his shoulders in a transparent attempt to step closer to him.

"Oh come on," he chides, rocking me to the side a little more aggressively. "You're Hermione Granger."

"Right, there are no books on this, though," I remind him. Okay, so I did manage to obtain a few books on Horcruxes before we left Hogwarts, but none of them really detail how to find and destroy those created by the darkest wizard of all time.

"Even so." Ron spins me around again and then pulls me in close so that I'm right up against him. It no longer feels like we're just two friends dancing. This is getting real. "I'd - we'd be lost without you."

The song shifts suddenly, slowing in tempo, and I situate my arm around him again, letting my fingers drape over the back of his shoulder. Our bodies are touching now, my lilac dress against his dress robes. If I felt so inclined, I could rest my head on his shoulder, and I almost do, but then I remember where we are, and who we are, and what tomorrow holds, and I resist.

"Hermione," he says seriously, "we don't know what's going to happen tomorrow."

"No, we don't."

"We could die," he asserts. There's no fear in his voice, just an acceptance of this as fact.

"Yes, but that's always true."

"Okay, well, all I'm saying is that the odds aren't exactly in our favor." His hand is gliding slowly up my back and for a second it's the only thing of which I'm even remotely aware. If we start something, if we head down the path in front of us, I will be rendered useless. Touching him, being close like this, it feels so natural but it also consumes me, and I'll be of no help to Harry if all I can think about is Ron.

"I know." I'm a Muggleborn. Ron is a blood traitor. And Harry is the Chosen One. It doesn't look great for any of us.

"So I reckon I should tell you something... that I haven't ever told you. Because I don't know if I'm ever going to get a chance otherwise."

I can't even hear the music anymore. He's the only thing that exists in the whole world, just him and his pinkening face and his fiery hair and his hand on my back. "Yes?" It's all I can muster.

"I'm sorry." It comes out softly, in a breath. "About last year, just all of it. I acted like the world's biggest - something. And I'm just really sorry."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. We've started doing the classic teenager side-to-side sway, but instead of feeling silly, the tranquility is nice. "Erm, well, it's okay. I forgave you a long time ago.

"Yeah, but I never told you. And I reckoned I should."

"Thank you." And then I do rest my head on his shoulder, just to see what it's like (I've always been a naturally curious person, it's why I read so much), and immediately I regret it because it's wonderful. It's the simplest gesture but it's so much more. It just feels right. I almost wish it didn't, it would just be so much easier if I could dismiss this as a little crush, but I know it's not. I know that what has been brewing between us is something extraordinary, but I also know that we can't pursue it.

"I wish I would have gone to that Christmas party with you," he adds, making me pick my head up and look directly into his bright blue eyes. "If I had known what would happen… I would have done everything so differently."

"Ron…" I don't know what to say, but he can't keep talking like this. We need to keep our composure, exercise some semblance of self-control. Our faces are terribly close together, eyes locked.

"We could have had months." _Oh God, he's really saying it. Despite the nonchalance he displayed earlier, it's clear now just how uncertain he sees the future, and just how willing he is to die for the cause. For Harry. For me. "And now this is all we get."_

"You don't know that anything's going to happen," I say. "We could - I mean, we have to win, don't we?"

"Don't see any other choice." He lets out a short laugh. "I'm not too much fun to dance with, am I?"

Despite it all, I give him a smile. "You were my first choice too."

A wide, lopsided grin stretches over his face. "Yeah? Not Vicky?"

Rather than dignify that with a response, I swat him on the shoulder. "It took him four tries before I agreed to go to the ball with him, you know."

"Really? Why?"

"I was waiting for you to do it."

He squeezes his eyes shut and nods as though this is very difficult information for him to process. When he opens his eyes, they are dark and determined, and then he presses his hand into my back so that there's hardly an inch of us that isn't touching. We've stopped moving, but the other couples around us haven't seemed to notice. Harry, aka Barny Weasley, is nowhere to be seen, though I feel confident neither of us would notice if an asteroid hit the tent.

And then his lips fall onto mine, warm and soft and o _h my God, perfect_ , moving and nudging against mine with such care and gentleness that I may well melt into the floor. It's everything I've wanted for years, and I can't believe that it's him who's kissing me, and it's happening here and now, of all places and times. It's not supposed to be this way. We're not supposed to be on the brink of war. We're supposed to have time to bliss out on each other and snog so much that we make Harry uncomfortable, but instead all we get is this one brilliant, gut-wrenching moment.

When I can no longer breathe, I reluctantly pull away from him. All I want to do is kiss him again, but that's exactly the problem. There are so many bigger things that we have to focus on now and there just isn't room for silly things like teenage romance.

"Sorry," he breathes, red in the face and looking both thrilled and embarrassed. "I just-"

"Don't be sorry," I insist. "But we - we can't. Not until…"

"I know." He shifts me around in his embrace so that he has an arm around my shoulders, hugging me close. "I know. Just dance with me."

That we can do.

 _Thank you for reading! Please feel free to review :)_


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